


Streets of Mos Pelgo

by actualkoschei



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adorable Grogu | Baby Yoda, Cultural Differences, Developing Relationships, Fluff, M/M, Some light angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28396119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualkoschei/pseuds/actualkoschei
Summary: Din returns to Mos Pelgo after getting Grogu back.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 10
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok I wrote this before the finale dropped.

Cobb Vanth had gentle hands. People didn’t tend to expect that, that the hands that held a blaster so steady would be soft when they touched living flesh.  But, despite their callouses, they were. 

The Mandalorian came back. People didn’t expect that either. They thought he’d be gone forever, in the wind like the lone wanderer he was. But he came back. Quieter now, seeming somehow smaller even in full beskar. Clinging to the child, who clutched at him back. Something had _happened_. 

Cobb didn’t ask what.  It was up to Mando is he wanted to tell him, he reasoned.  So he said nothing, instead. Brought the Mandalorian and his child, silent both, inside, gave them tea and bread and  bantha milk for the little one. 

It was after two cups of tea that the Mandalorian spoke. “Thank you.” He said, oddly stiff.

“It’s nothing.” Cobb responded, instinctively. It was nothing more than hospitality. To feed and water a  traveler , who on  Tatooine wouldn’t, if they could afford to?

“No.” The Mandalorian  looked into his cup. “It is  _ Resol’nare _ . ”

Cobb felt oddly stupid at that moment. “ It's w hat?”

“Virtue. The... the Six Actions. Virtue of a Mandalorian.”

Cobb felt the phantom weight of borrowed beskar on his shoulders. “It is?”

“Yes. To offer a meal, to care for a child. It is. It’s important.”

Cobb felt a knot of warmth spread open in the middle of his chest, a strange, hot feeling. “Well, I’m glad. You’re welcome to it, Mando.”

“Din.” The Mandalorian said, his helmet back firmly in place, after being lifted to eat and drink.

“What?” Cobb said again, and got the feeling he’d be doing that a lot.

“That’s my name. Din Djarin.”

“Din  Djarin .” Cobb rolled it around in  his mouth, and decided he liked the taste of it.  “Where’s that from? Mandalore?”

“Aq Vetina.”

“Where?” It was better than  _ what _ , he supposed.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s gone now anyway.”

Cobb felt awkward then. “I’m sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter. Been a long time.”

“Still sorry. Din... can I call you that?”

“That’s why I said it.”

“You tell a lot of people, right?”

“No. Not anyone for a long time.”

He was distracted then, from any significance of what he might  have said by the child falling straight forward into his almost finished bowl of milk, evidently sound asleep. 

“Grogu!” Din scolded, going around the table to scoop up the sleeping creature and wipe his face off on a cloth.

“Grogu? That’s his name? You named him that?” Cobb tried not to laugh.

“ _ I  _ didn’t.” The grimace in his voice showed as well as it might have on his face. “I should put him to bed...”

Cobb saw his chance slipping away, so he snatched it. “Stay.”

“What?” For a moment, the shoe was on the other foot, and guiltily, Cobb  savoured it.

“Stay.” He repeated. “Stay the night, both of you.” He didn’t think there was any chanc e, not any real one, that Din would say yes.

Din paused, considering. “Yes.”

Cobb’s heart felt strange in his chest, beating faster. “Yes?”

“Yes. We’ll stay.”

“You can have the bed.” Cobb said quickly. “You look like you need it. I mean, not that I can see what you look like, but... you carry yourself like you’re sore.”

Din simply nodded.

So Cobb kept talking. “We’ll put the little one on the couch.”

“So where will you sleep?”

“In the chair. I’ve done it before.”

“That’s not... we’ll share.”

Cobb raised an eyebrow, and knew if he was a younger man, his face would be red.  “Share?”

“Is that not common, among comrades?”

“ _ Comrades _ .” Cobb savored the word, like he had savored Din’s name. “Is it?”

“In the covert...”

“Fine. We’ll share, and you’ll tell me about your covert, okay?”

Din thought for a moment, then nodded. “Mind if I use your ‘fresher first?”

“Go ahead.” Cobb offered. “Hand over the little one.”

Din hesitated a moment, then pried the child from his breastplate, handing him over to Cobb. The little one just whined in his sleep, snuggling into the new chest offered to him.

Din headed for the refresher.

Cobb rocked the baby as he made up a little bed on the couch for him. It came surprisingly easy. It wasn’t the first child he’d held, of course. Never one of his own, he hadn’t been that lucky.  But the people of Mos  Pelgo were always happy to hand their little ones over to the Marshall to cuddle and watch over. 

When he headed back to the bedroom, child still on his chest, Din’s  beskar plate was stacked neatly against the wall. Din himself was in his underclothes. Underclothes and helmet. 

Cobb chuckled. “It doesn’t come off?” 

“Not in front of anyone else.” Din said, a little stiff.

Cobb felt instantly wrong-footed.  Open mouth, insert foot. “That’s fine!”

Din got into the bed without saying anything further.

It was  really barely big enough for two grown men. Cobb  realised he hadn’t thought his agreement to share through. Lying down in his nightclothes, he was pressed to Din’s side, only too close.  “You wanna put your kid to bed?”

Din got up again, and Cobb missed the warmth of him beside him. He picked the child up. 

The little one half-woke. “Buu!” He squealed.

Din chuckled. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“You understand him?” Cobb asked.

“I know what he’s trying to say. He’s trying to say _buir_. It’s father, parent, in Mando’a.” There was the warmth of a smile in his voice. “Yes, kid, your _buir_ is here. Let’s get you to bed.” He carried the child out of the room.

Cobb was half-asleep by the time Din returned. “He needed stories.” Din muttered as he got back under the covers beside Cobb. 

“Don’t forget you promised me a story too.” Cobb teased, as he woke the rest of the way.

“About my covert?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve heard about Mandalorian coverts. But I didn’t think they were real, you know? I thought it had to be a legend. Warrens of great warriors, living in the sewers. Sounds like a tale to scare bad kids.”

“It wasn’t. Isn’t. It’s been our reality since the Great Purge. Since the Imperials came. We lost  Mandalore . It’s cursed. We had to run, in the smallest groups we could.  I was young.  Just barely sworn to the Creed . My  _ buir _ , my father, he followed our  _ alor _ _.. _ . our Armorer. She’s a good woman.  We fled to the first planet we thought might be safe. We found ways to keep ourselves alive, found employment. I became a bounty hunter, we call it  _ beroya _ ."

“ _ Beroya _ .” Cobb echoed. “Do you like it?”

“It sounds funny when you say it.” Din’s voice was suddenly lighter. “But yes, yes, I do.” The second bit was sober again. “It feels good. I’m good at it.”

“Makes you feel strong?” Din didn’t answer.  So Cobb kept speaking. “I understand.  I never used to feel strong. Not until I... well, that  armor helped.”

“Your stolen armor.”

“Yes. That.”

Din was silent for a long moment. “I thought you’d killed for it.”

“What?”  There he went again.

“I thought you’d killed the Mandalorian who wore it. Killed them and took it off them and wore it...” His voice shook a little. “It’s like wearing someone’s  _ skin _ .”

“That’s why you asked me to strip when we first met?”

“Asked you to put down your trophy, more like.”

“It wasn’t a trophy. It was damn good protection. But I... I see why you didn’t like me wearing it.” He admitted.

“Thank you.”

“No, really. I didn’t understand. What it meant.  Not something that can be bought and sold, is it?”

“No. It isn’t.”

“Say, you really never take the helmet off? Not even around other Mandalorians?”

“My face is for the eyes of my spouse and my children only. This is the Way.” 

“So, the little one’s seen it?”

“No.”

“But you just said...”

“He’s not my child. Well, he is, but not formally.”

“Formally?”

“There’s a ceremony. I didn’t want to do it on my own, it should be in the presence of my people, but now...”

“How about in the presence of friends?”

“You mean...?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“I suppose we are.”

“And Peli Mott o down in Mos Eisley? See, I hear things. ”

“Her, too.”

“Then get her over here, and let’s do your ceremony.”

“Hmm.” It sounded like an agreement. There was no more talk, sleep claiming them both.

Din  Djarin , it turned out, was  a sleep cuddler. Cobb certainly hadn’t been expecting  _ that _ .  He was woken in the dark hours by the sharp edge of a  beskar helmet jammed into the back of his neck.  At first, he didn’t understand the circumstances that had caused this, until he registered that he was also ensnared, much the way a  Sarlaac ensnares its prey, in the grasp of all Din’s limbs.

He tried to shift away. It wasn’t possible. The Mandalorian, Cobb was forced to remember, was stronger than he was.

“Din.” He said, softly, only half wanting to wake him. “Din, let go.”

Din startled up, from fully asleep to fully awake and out of the bed in seconds. “My apologies.”

Cobb rolled over with a groggy groan. “It’s not that much of a big deal. Get back in bed.”

“I overstepped.”

“You were  _ asleep _ ! I thought  _ you’d  _ be uncomfortable! Makers, let’s just get back to sleep.”

Din didn’t look comfortable. “I...”

“Go back to  _ sleep _ .” Cobb insisted, and Din had to obey, the tone  leaving no other option. He turned his back on Cobb, and seemed stiff.

The darkness made Cobb daring, daring enough to admit that  He crept an arm around Din’s waist. Oh, but the man was slimmer than he realized, tight and trim under the heavy armor. Cobb stroked his  waist, and waited to see if he would squirm.

He did, and stiffened, but... he didn’t pull away. “Vanth.”

“Din.”

“What are you doing?”

“Holding you.” He took a breath. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No. No, I don’t.” Din admitted, his voice just a breath.

“Then lie still and hush.” Cobb rubbed Din’s  stomach, his hand splayed against the warmth of his flesh through his nightshirt. 

Din let out a soft sound, muffled by his helmet, and  _ oh  _ if that didn’t spark an unfurling heat in Cobb’s chest. 

“What does your code think of it?” Cobb asked. 

“Of what?” Din’s voice was muffled by his helmet.

“Romance. Sex.”

“Not the same thing.”

“No, I know they’re not. But they often go together, don’t they?”

“The Way says that romance is sacred. Sex is... an expression of that sacredness.”

“Sex is only with romance, then?”

“Yes. It’s not right to share your flesh with someone you won’t share your heart with.”

“Huh.” Cobb’s hand rested soft against Din’s stomach. “You ever uh, shared your heart with someone?”

“No. There was someone who I wanted, but it didn’t come to be.”

“ _ Oh _ .” Cobb rubbed a careful little circle on Din’s muscular stomach.  “No wonder you’re so stiff.”

“What?”

“You’ve  _ never _ ." Cobb relished the revelation.

“Been with someone? No, I’ve never.”

“That’s...”

“It’s no shame. It is the Way.”

“It’s no shame.” Cobb agreed. “It’s  _ precious. _ "

“Don’t  patronize me.”

“I’m not! I wouldn’t.”

“Have you?”

“Been in love?”

“Shared yourself with someone.”

“Plenty of times.”

“Oh.”

“Even with someone I was in love with.”

“You were in love?”

“Once.  Well, for a couple of years. Oh, she was wonderful.”

“Tell me?”

“About her?”

“Yes.”

“She tended bar at Mos Espa cantina. She was beautiful. A Twi’lek, you know. Blue and gorgeous. She’d been a slave. But you know, so had I.”

“You were a slave?”

Cobb stiffened against Din’s back. “Yes. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about  _ her _ . She was a real firecracker. We had two good years, you know.”

“She died?” Din sounded sympathetic.

“No. She ran off with a starship freighter captain to get off-world. Can’t say I blame her.”

“I wouldn’t stay on a planet where I’d been enslaved either.”

Cobb stiffened once more. “Well,  _ I  _ did.”

“You’re a strange man, Cobb Vanth.”

“Is that what you think of me?”

“I said strange, not bad. It’s not bad. I think I like your  type  of strange.”

“I think I like you, Mandalorian. Din.” Cobb smiled wide. “I like your morals. Your kindness. I like your body.” 

Din squirmed against him, and oh, that did something to Cobb, something wicked. “Darlin’...” he breathed out.

Din let out a sound, an indescribable broken sound.  “Say it again.” 

“My darling.” Cobb said again. “I wanted you. From the first moment I saw you, in that shiny  armor . I thought we might... but you’ve  _ never _ . Never even been kissed, have you?”

“I haven’t. Would have to show my face...”

“What if I cover my eyes?”

“What?”

“If I cover my eyes, put on a blindfold or something, could I kiss you?”

There was a moment of silence as Din thought about it. “Yes.”

Cobb untangled his arms from Din and scrambled out of the room. “I’ll be right back.”

He returned minutes later, carrying a scarf normally used to keep sand or sun or fierce desert wind out of his eyes.  A length of tightly woven fabric, a mottled dark grey from cheap dye, made soft from wear where it was once coarse. “Blindfold me, Din.” Cobb held out the  scarf with both hands.

Din’s hands, missing his gauntlets and gloves, were shockingly gentle. He held Cobb’s face in his hands, tender, as he tied the scarf behind his head, leaving the gentle pressure of the fabric over his eyes.  “Is it too tight?”

Cobb leaned back a little, testing. “No. It’s fine.”

“Can you see?”

“Nothing. Just a little light, not even shapes.”

“Good.” There was a rustle. “I’m taking off my helmet now.” There was more rustling, then he spoke again, his voice sounding different now, without the vocals of the helmet. “Your room is colder than I  realized .”

Cobb reached out. “May I?”

“Yes.”

His hands found Din’s face, tracing over the angles of it. Soft skin, coarse stubble, the heat of the bed still clinging to him. He ran a finger over dry lips, earning himself a sigh from the other man. 

Din allowed it for a while. “You said you were going to kiss me.”

“Huh.” Cobb smiled widely. “So I did.”

He leaned in, somewhat missing the mark at first in his blindness. But Din’s hands were on his shoulders, guiding him, until their lips met. Cobb kissed soft, gentle , urging. Just lips, at first, then a whisper of tongue. Din’s mouth opened for him, warm and yielding. Cobb’s hand crept around his back, holding him close.

“Yes..” Din breathed out softly.

“Yes.” Cobb agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one where I tried to Star Wars-ify "Streets of Laredo"

in didn’t leave. It had been months, of nights in each other’s arms, of blindfolded kisses in the morning. Of meals together, bedtime stories for the child. Nothing more than kisses , Din refused. And Cobb respected, happy enough to sleep beside him, to take just what he was given, and savor it.

Preparations for Grogu’s adoption ceremony were in full swing, and Din had gone to Mos Eisley to collect  one last job before the ceremony , leaving Grogu with Cobb for two days.

Cobb wouldn’t venture to say he wasn’t enjoying it.  The little thing was equal parts wicked and sweet, keeping him on his toes but so precious he couldn’t possibly begrudge him. 

But now, he’d managed to lose him around the moisture collectors.  It wasn’t uncommon for a household on Tatooine to have one or two backyard moisture collectors of their own,  nothing like the  setups moisture farmers would have. They featured a deep barrel to collect the pre-dawn dew. A barrel a tiny child could all too easily disappear into. They shouldn’t have much more than an inch in them now,  but a baby could drown in an inch of water, couldn’t they?

Cobb was starting to panic. “Kid, I... where are you?”

He heard a giggle. He couldn’t pinpoint it from where it was coming from, but he knew it was Grogu’s. 

“Kid!” The knot of worry lightened in his chest. So, he wasn’t  _ yet _ going to have to tell Din that the little one died on his watch. 

Another giggle.  Definitely coming from one of the moisture vats, he’d been right on  _ that  _ at least.

He pried the little open. The child was in there, sitting cross-legged, not touching the surface of the two inches of water.

Cobb stopped and stared goggle-eyed at the sight.  _ Kriff _ _ , but it’s always something with this little one, isn’t it?  _ _ “ _ Come on out of there, kid, and we can go to the market, wouldn’t you like that?” He reached into the vat to extract Grogu.

Grogu burbled, settling into Cobb’s arms, contented and slightly damp. Well, the hot wind that had blown up from the open sands would dry him fast enough. He set the little one on his hip as they walked. What they needed was mundane enough. Milk and fruit for the little one, fabric, some new tools for maintaining the moisture collectors. He bounced Grogu in his arms as they spoke to shopkeepers.

Grogu, of course, was popular as ever. The shopkeepers, many of them friends of Cobb’s, ex-slaves like him, cooed over him, pinched his little green cheeks and his long ears. He seemed to relish the attention, cooing and giggling , and keeping well-behaved.

Until he didn’t. Until his small hands plucked at Cobb’s tunic, his big eyes starting to well up, his coos and chattering turning fretful.

Cobb bounced him a little harder. “What’s wrong, little one?”

A fretful sound was his only answer. 

Cobb didn’t know how to speak child. He’d never had one of his own, even if he was perfectly happy to entertain the swarms of them that clung, shy, to the Marshall. 

He held the little one up to his eye level, examining his small green face closely.  Looking for signs of illness, of harm. All he saw was big, black, wet eyes. The baby was about to cry, that much he could tell.

The old woman, ex-slave, who owned the fruit stand came up to them, clicking concernedly. “Where’s his mama, Marshall?”

“What?” Cobb looked down on her, and not in the condescending way. It was a necessity brought about by the fact that the top of her carefully braided grey bun only hit at his chest.

“That baby. Where’s his mama? You ought to take him to her.”

“No mother.” Cobb said, instantly, accurately, but misleadingly. 

“Poor mite.” She  fussed, her bright blue eyes sad. “Orphaned, is he?”

“No! No, he’s got a father. Away working for the night.”

“Well, that explains it. Poor thing wants his daddy, I’d bet.”

“He does?”

“That, and he’s overtired. You ought to take him home. You can have that plum he stole for free.”

“He stole a plum?” Cobb sighed. “Thank you, auntie.” He paid for the plum anyway, and a few more pieces of fruit, and left quickly.

The child did start to cry as they walked home, in loud, sniffing sobs.  His mouth was open in a round “O” of distress. 

Cobb brought him into the house as fast as he could, unwrapped the scarf from around his face, and the cuddled the baby tight against his chest. “Poor little thing. Your  daddy’ll be home soon, promise.”

Another sniffle greeted him.  Grogu, he could tell, was ramping up for another wail.  “Don’t cry.” Cobb begged him. “It’s okay, we’re okay... let’s get you some dinner and to bed, how about it? Some fruit and porridge?” He was moving to the kitchen as he spoke.

Grogu just whimpered. 

Cobb set a pot on the stove, keeping the baby resting on his hip.  _ Gone domestic, haven’t I? Just look at me now. _ Without even t ry ing, the thought brought to mind  the image of his mother, and, with no conscious thought behind it, he began to sing, softly, under his breath at first. 

“ _ As I went out walking, walking on the sands one fine morning, one fine morning as the suns rose above.  _ _ I saw a young soldier, all dressed in white armor, all dressed in white armor as cold as the day. I said, I see by your armor, that you are a soldier...” _

The child was quiet now, and as Cobb set out the fruit-topped porridge, he ate it with the minimum of sniffles. 

Cobb wiped his face when the meal was done, picked him up again, and carried him to the bed Cobb and Din usually shared. “You can have your daddy’s spot tonight.” He told Grogu. It wasn’t likely, he  realised , that he’d have been able to put him down anyway.  The child was clinging to him as forcefully as his little hands could, small fingers knotting in the rough knit of Cobb’s shirt.

They lay down together, Cobb’s arm supporting  Gorgu , and Cobb started to sing again, as the  baby’s big eyes slid closed.  “ _ Come sit down beside me, and hear my sad story, I’m shot in the breast, and I’m dying today... _ "

The door clicked open. Cobb startled, and the words of the song dried on his tongue. 

Din stood in the doorway, in full armor, his silhouette blacker than black against the star-studded darkness behind him. 

Cobb stared at him.  He should be used to it, by now, he thought. The sight of a fully armored Mandalorian. Yet, the sight still took his breath away.

Grogu squirmed awake in his arms, and shrieked for his  _ buir _ , holding his hands out. 

Din strode over to the side of the bed to take him, and Cobb lay on his side, watching his little family reunited again. His  _ family _ . He hadn’t had one of those in such a long time. Cobb’s chest felt warm and full inside. “Come lie down, both of you.”

Din chuckled low. “Let me wash up,  _ cyare _ _. _ I’ll be right there.” He set the baby back against Cobb’s chest to fall asleep there as he headed for the refresher.

Cobb half-feigned sleep until he felt Din curling around him, warm and solid and still smelling of the desert.  He pressed back into him, into the warmth of him. “Nice to have you back.”

“I thought, while I was away.” Din, never one for small talk, immediately responded.

“There’s a surprise.” Cobb teased, without his heart in it, resting his head against Din’s forearm. “About what?”

“Us.”

“Hmm?” Cobb turned awkwardly in his embrace. “What about us?”

“How I’d say the  _ riduurok _ with you, if you’d have me.”

“The what? Darling, you’re going to have to translate these things for me.”

“Marriage vows.”

Cobb’s heart felt like it had stopped. “You what?”

“I’d say it with you. If you’d have me.” Din repeated, and under his gruff tone was a note of pleading.

“Is this a proposal?”

“I suppose that’s what you’d call it.”

Cobb was silent for a moment, staring at the ceiling above him. The plastered cream arch remained the same as it always was, over hundreds of sleepless nights.  “Yes.”

“What’s that?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes, I’ll say your vows for you. Yes, I’ll have you.” He pressed a kiss to the skin of Din’s throat, under his helmet.

Din’s arms tightened around him. “Thank you.”

“What do we have to do? Got to prepare for another ceremony?”

“Could do both in the same night. The  _ riduurok _ is a private thing.”

“I think I like that. Just you and me, under the moons.” Cobb said, as if he’d never thought about in, in the wee hours of the morning.

“We say the vows to each other. I show you my face. Then, we can return to celebrate  with the others.”

“I get to see your face?”

“Mm. Yes. For my _riduur_ only. And that’s to be you.”

“I think I like that idea.”


End file.
